


Fractured

by jarpad



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Britton’s interpretation of Kemper is chilling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Holden, I had such a freaky dream after I wrote this oh my God, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Oneshot, Panic Attacks, Really non descriptive dw, Restraints, Vomiting, unintentional self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 01:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12924072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarpad/pseuds/jarpad
Summary: The immediate aftermath of the S1 finale hospital scene. Spoilers for Episode 10.Everything was a blur.It was all too much.He wasn’t crazy.He wasn’t.





	Fractured

Everything was a blur.

By the time Holden was breathing somewhat normally again, he had become completely numb. A blessing mentally, perhaps. But it meant he was vulnerable to everyone else around him.

He couldn’t talk. As much as he willed himself to. His left leg wouldn’t stop twitching against the linoleum floor. Could smell chemicals. See black dots. The nurse that had stopped to help him was called Meredith something. Holden could see her name badge flashing in and out of his vision as she manoeuvred him upright with surprisingly strong hands. Those eight letters were the only thing Holden could understand at that moment, nothing else made sense.

Meredith.

There were more hands then, peeling his jacket off, pulling him to a standing position. His knees buckled.

Snippets of time kept getting lost. One moment he was being held up by faceless people, the next, he was on his back and the ceiling was speeding past. A mask appeared at his face, which made Holden panic some more. Words like ‘oxygen’ and ‘help you’ made it through his temporary language barrier, gradually lessening the Special Agent’s incognisant struggles until his entire body eventually became slack.

Nothing happened for a while, until slowly, but surely, Holden’s senses came back.

First, sound. His own, short breaths. The nurse by his bedside, writing something down on a chart. Consistent, calm beeps of a heart monitor in the distance.

Then touch, and bodily movements. Holden sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, letting the much needed oxygen flow through him.

“Mr Ford?” A voice sounded to the right. He tried to turn his head, finding the action more taxing than it should have been. A man stood there, with glasses and grey hair. Mid fifties, skin prematurely wrinkled, a faint whiff of tobacco covered with mint.

“Mr Ford? Are you with us?” The doctor spoke again, frowning slightly.

Holden lifted his hand slowly, pulling the oxygen mask away from his face with a shaking hand.

“S-special Agent Ford.”

The doctor looked somewhat affronted at the correction, but continued nevertheless. “Special Agent.” He corrected. “How are you feeling? Any nausea, dizziness? Trouble breathing?”

The agent briefly lifted the mask again. “I’m okay.”

“Mr- Special Agent Ford, do you have any history of panic or post-traumatic stress disorders?”

Holden shook his head.

“Social anxiety? Depression? Any underlying medical issues?”

Shook his head again.

“Have you recently undergone any psychological stress?”

Holden’s vision tunnelled.

The ghost of Ed Kemper’s sickening embrace shuddered through the agent, breaths picking up.

“Special Agent Ford?”

His skin was crawling. Burning. 

"Agent Ford, breathe with me. In 1 - 2 - 3 -“

Had to get rid of him.

“Special Agent, you’re safe, you’re in the hospital-”

Dug his fingers into his lower arms, hard, nails sharp against soft skin. He had to get rid of him.

_Someone grab his other hand!_

It was too much.

_Get me a sedative_

Too much.

_Restrain him_

Too.

Much.

* * *

Something itched on his leg.

Holden was half awake when the prickling made itself known. He wished someone would scratch it for him. Arms were too heavy to do anything about it.

It was a short while later that Holden realised his arms weren’t just heavy. They were restrained. He could feel the cuffs digging into his wrists. Naturally, his heart jumped at the realisation.

“Special Agent Ford?” 

He tugged at the restraints.

“I’m sorry Agent Ford, we had to restrain you out of precaution. Once you’re fully lucid we can remove them.”

Holden hummed, unsettled. 

“We managed to find your partner, Special Agent Bill Tench? He’s on his way over to us now, shouldn’t be long. You’ve been asleep for a few hours.”

Shit.

“How are you feeling?”

“Mm’okay.” He managed, eyes squeezing tightly as he gained more motor function.

“If you feel any nausea or dizziness, please use the call button.”

The young agent nodded, eyes still shut.

“Someone will be back to check on you shortly.”

“Can you… ‘move these?” Holden lifted his hand, signifying the restraints.

“A nurse will be along shortly.” He repeated. “To ask you some questions, then hopefully yes.”

Holden nodded again.

It went quiet after that. A bit later, Holden opened his eyes. The oxygen mask had gone, and he was propped up in a bed, head supported by thin pillows that smelled musty and itched his cheek.

The dressings on his lower arms were new. Four short, red lines decorated his left arm, three smaller on the right.

Had he…?

“Holden?”

His gaze flickered up from the marks to the figure that had suddenly appeared in the doorway.

“Bill?” His voice was quiet and scratchy from disuse. The other approached warily.

“What happened?” Confusion and worry wrinkled the older agent’s face like an irremovable stain.

“I don’t know.” Holden’s breaths picked up a touch, shrinking back but falling short when his restraints tugged. Both pairs of eyes fell upon them.

“The fuck are these?” Anger surged through the older man.

“Could you..?” The younger agent asked, defeated.

“Could _I-_? Jesus, Holden, you’re not a _criminal_ -“ Bill’s loosened the belt on one wrist with jerking movements. A vein pulsed in his temple. Loosened the other. Holden brought the freed hands close, rubbing at his wrists. “What the _hell_ happened?”

“I- Kemper-“

“Did Kemper do this to you? That son of a bitch, I’ll-“

“No, he- no.” Holden shook his head, lip wobbling. The vulnerability didn’t go unnoticed.

“What’s wrong, Holden?”

The agent’s breath hitched, lips twisting down. He rubbed his wrist where the cuffs had been. “I’m… _not_ crazy.”

“What?” Confusion flickered, “Of course you’re not, what are you trying to say?”

Holden swallowed, eyes anywhere but his partner’s. “I did it.”

“Did what?”

“To myself, I think… They restrained me after. Sedated.” Holden chanced a glance at the other. Shock was slapped across the older agent’s face, eyes darting to the dressing’s on Holden’s arms, then down to his hands.

“You… I don’t,” Bill frowned in upset, “understand?”

“I don’t really remember what happened.”

Bill sighed, hand dipping into his jacket pocket and pulling out his half empty box of cigarettes.

“Start from the beginning.”

* * *

“M’gonna be-“

There was a trash can in front of him in seconds, Holden heaving up bile and what little he’d had to eat the past 24 hours.

“Jesus, kid.”

His shoulders were shaking by the time his stomach felt safe enough to give the soiled can back. Bill took it and slid it away, placing a hesitant hand on Holden’s shoulder moments later. The younger agent fought back a flinch.

“Jesus.” Bill repeated again, more to himself than anything else. “I thought this stuff didn’t phase you?”

“I thought so too.”

Silence rang out between them, Bill presumably trying to understand the events of the last few hours, Holden, trying to keep his mind focused on the man in front of him rather than the horrifying memory of Kemper. 

“Well, at least we know you’re human now.” Bill teased lightly.

“Holden Ford: Panics when a serial killer touches him.” Holden attempted back.

Bill tightened his grip on the younger agent’s shoulder, urging eye contact. “You’re only human, Holden. You could only keep this bottled up for so long before it got to you.”

“What good am I if I can’t even make it into a room with the murderer that started all of this?”

“ _You’re_ the one that started this project. You could have chosen any other one of those crazies to interview first, unfortunately you just happened to pick the guy who developed an unhealthy obsession with you.”

Holden hummed, not convinced, but feeling a little better.

“We’ll figure this out,” Bill assured, “but you have to keep me in the loop with everything. No running off on your own, no more bottling up. Understand?”

The younger man nodded solemnly.

“Good. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last night in a random fit of inspiration. It is not beta'd and I've probably overused ellipsis, pronouns, etc. Not my best work by far, but I want to post more oneshots online before they start getting too long. Like my dumbass Sherlock fic that has gotten to 100k+, that no one has ever seen, and likely will never see bc I'm dumb af and write way too much and then have to go back through it all to make sure there's no spelling/grammar errors or plot holes. Anyway enough of that, bring on S2 of Mindhunter! The next season could go so many ways, I'm so excited for it and also proud of my boy Jonathan for being a kickass actor I hope he's having a nice day today
> 
> Note to self: Do not write about serial killers before going to sleep, it gives you weird dreams.


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